


How can I trust you?

by stormthedarkcity



Series: Fictober 2018 [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: Warden Tabris has a little chat with the assassin who just got sent to kill her.





	How can I trust you?

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: someone gets a dagger pointed at their throat, but it doesn't get much more violent than that.

By the time everyone was bandaged up from their recent encounter with the Crows, the night had fallen. The moon was almost full, and it was casting shadows on the parts of camp that weren’t illuminated by the fire.

In one of those shadows, there was the leader of said Crows. He was sitting beside one of the tents, his hands drawn tight behind his back by leather bounds. He looked bad. His lower lip was busted, his left eye swollen, and there was a cut on his cheek. Maker knows what other injuries he had under his clothes.

But despite how much pain he must’ve been in, he hadn’t moved since they’d set him down there, barely looked around. To anyone who wasn’t an elf, he’d almost have looked… bored.

But Keerla Tabris knew better. She was familiar with the advantage that their heightened hearing offered on other species – especially humans.

Humans never seemed to realise that whatever they were whispering from the other side of the street, elves could hear it if they just paid attention. They often didn’t, though. Whispered insults are still insults, and rarely useful.

So the Crow – Zevran – wasn’t bored, as Alistair, Leliana, Wynne, or Morrigan could have believed. No, he was listening. Keerla saw his ears twitch forward a few times, whenever his existence was mentioned during dinner. The smallest of movements, the accidental kind, that one would miss unless they were paying close attention.

Which Keerla was.

She didn’t stop the conversation though, nor did she ask her companions to lower their voices – after all, having to explain the reason for her request would mean revealing her own advantage. And if there’s one thing that Keerla had learnt from the alienage, it’s that she should never give up an advantage.

“I can clean up your bowl, if you want.”

Keerla looked up. Alistair was standing in front of her, hand extended and expression grave. “I don’t really want to do the interrogating,” he added in a whisper with a nod towards Zevran.

“I’d appreciate that, Alistair, thanks.”

She gave him her empty bowl while getting up. She cracked her neck and knuckles, and adjusted the leather hair tie she wore to fight.

Deep breath.

She turned towards Zevran and marched decidedly in his direction. His face immediately lit up. “Ah, my wonderful new master pays me a visit! Say, could I have some of that meat you and your companions were sharing? I do not mean to impose, but I couldn’t help but notice that delicious smell of–”

Keerla crouched in front of him and gripped his hair firmly. It didn’t affect his wide smile, but it did shut him up. She grabbed a knife from her lower back with her free hand, letting it hover between them with its blade pointed at Zevran. “How can I trust you?”

He chuckled, ignoring the knife altogether. “Isn’t my word enough? Surely a beautiful lady such as yourself has learnt to respect a gentleman’s promise.”

She moved forward in a flash and pressed the point of the dagger to his throat. “How can I trust you?” she repeated between clenched teeth.

He swallowed against the cold blade, smile unwavering. “Ah, I see, you use your mouth to bite more than to smile. You should give it a try, though, it can be rather useful.”

She yanked his hair back. “My patience is running thin and I _will_ cut your throat if you don’t give me a good reason not to.”

She wouldn’t have. Or maybe she would have. She was still unsure of where her morals were. She’d killed to survive before, of course, but how justified would this death be? “I’ve seen you listen to us,” she added in a whisper.

Zevran moved forward despite the harsh tug at his hair, and said on the same tone: “And yet you didn’t tell the others. Interesting, don’t you think? Do you not trust them?” He glanced at Keerla’s companions, who were chatting by the fire.

She unconsciously loosened the tug at his hair. “You shouldn’t ever trust humans. Not fully,” she said.

“Never lose an advantage, hey? I am familiar with the idea.”

Keerla squinted. “If you expect me to trust you just because you’re an elf…”

Zevran laughed happily, as though he was in an inn having a fun chat with a friend. “On the contrary. Never do that. Where I come from, elves are as traitorous and deadly as humans are in your alienages, or so I’ve heard.”

“What’s your case, then?”

Zevran blinked slowly, like a cat in a familiar situation. “You’re a survivor, clearly. You can handle yourself. What danger could I possibly be to you?”

She scoffed, incredulous. “Your argument is that you are weak.”

“My argument is that _you_ are strong. And that my best bet to survive is to stick by you. I would not harm you now, such rash action would only shorten my own days.

Keerla thought for a moment.

At the very least, another pair of blades would be useful in fights. And if he ever decided to turn on them, well… He was more than outnumbered.

Zevran sighed and winced ever so slightly as she let go of his hair. She flipped the blade in her hand and sliced the leather bound that held his wrists together.

“Thank you.” He rubbed the reddened skin with the pad of his thumb. “I usually prefer to establish watchwords before I engage in any kind of tying up.”

Keerla ignored him. “I’ll keep an eye on you,” she threatened.

He flashed his teeth at her, a twinkle in his pale eyes. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”


End file.
